


Night Terrors

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nightmares, One Shot, Trauma, dream-sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Stiles somehow stumbles into Peter's nightmare. It really sucks.
Relationships: Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Night Terrors

Stiles has no idea why or how it happens. 

Sometimes, his spark magic is just everything and nothing. No one can explain certain aspects of it. Sometimes, it sucks. Sometimes, it’s awesome.

But what happens to him one night in autumn definitely sucks big time.   
  


It starts like this: Stiles can’t breathe.  
  


He chokes on smoke and frantically gropes around for … everything and nothing. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s searching for. A light switch? Probably. Because … it’s pitch-dark around him. He can’t see a thing. 

Stiles can’t suppress a shaky whimper. He doesn’t like darkness. Especially not after the Nogitsune. After hearing the rattling breaths and hoarse chuckles approaching him from all sides of his mind. 

His Dad got him one of these night lights. First, Stiles felt embarrassed to use it. Because … well, it’s a child thing, isn’t it? But it actually helps. It helps, to wake up from one of his many nightmares and not be in total darkness. The light is like an anchor. A beacon leading him back to reality. Also, no one made fun of it and after a lot of therapy sessions Stiles finally realized that there are no rules when it comes to coping, as long as it’s helping and isn’t hurting himself. 

Is _this_ a nightmare? Stiles wants to hope so. Because that means he will wake up from it. But … something about this is strange. He feels like an intruder. Like he shouldn’t be here. He has to leave. Now. 

After ages of fumbling and choking, he finally touches the handle of a door and almost sobs in relief when his fingers wander over it. It feels hot. Stiles still grabs it and pulls the door open. He stumbles out the pitch-black “room”, into - a forest. Blinking, he sways and looks around, trying to orientate himself.

Stiles frowns at the burnt smell that lies in the air. A cloud of smoke is following him out the room he just left. It floats between the trees like fog.

 _I really hope this isn’t some kind of vision_ , Stiles thinks and shivers. _Something terrible that is going to happen soon. To someone I care about. Please no …_

Carefully, he takes a few steps forward, only to freeze at the sight in front of him. 

The forest floor is covered in bodies. Stiles looks at them in numb horror. The bodies are stiff and charred. Adults and children. Stiles starts to feel sick. 

He stumbles into another direction, trying to get away from all these bodies, from the sickening burnt smell and the darkness that lies behind him. He stumbles forward until he hears a sob and he freezes, turning his head into the direction of the noise. There, on a tree stump, sits a man, curled into himself, his arms wrapped around his trembling body.

Stiles stares at the man and everything gets so much more confusing, because he knows who it is. “Peter?” He asks hesitantly. What the hell … 

Peter flinches violently and unfolds, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes. They are glistening with tears but quickly fill with confusion. “Stiles? What are you doing here?” 

Stiles shrugs. He doesn’t even know what _here_ means. “Magic.” 

Peter frowns, but doesn’t comment on it. “Are they still there?” He asks instead, his voice breaking at the last syllables.

“The bodies?” Stiles asks. He carefully looks behind himself and grimaces. “Yeah.” 

Peter nods. He doesn’t seem to be surprised. But he looks … scared? He hides his head in his hands and exhales shakily.

And after another moment of utter confusion, Stiles starts to understand. “Oh.” He thinks of the smoke, the charred bodies and gets it. 

_I’m in Peter’s dream_ , he thinks and doesn’t know how to feel about this fact. _Somehow, I landed in Peter’s dream - no, nightmare - and it really, really sucks._

His eyes still glued to Peter’s trembling body, Stiles runs a shaky hand through his hair. Fuck. 

This is awful and awkward. It’s rude to walk into someone’s dream like that, right? Without permission. He’s an intruder. He kicked a mental door down and just walked in. Now he is seeing things he shouldn't see. It isn’t just awkward, it’s downright terrifying and _wrong._ Stiles remembers that Peter’s own sister invaded his mind and took memories away and he feels even worse. Only ... he really didn’t want to stumble in here. No. 

He glances back to the bodies and it hits him like a punch in the guts. He’s looking at Peter’s dead family. Oh God. He feels sour bile burning in his throat and wishes all of this wouldn’t feel so realistic. 

How the hell is he even going to get out of Peter’s dream? He doesn’t even know how he got in. 

Peter is crying silently now and that freaks Stiles out more than anything else. Peter doesn’t cry. He’s always composed. Calm. Indifferent. He's ... in control. Or maybe he is just bottling everything up because he doesn't want anyone to see ... this, Stiles wonders.

While he keeps staring, feeling confused and helpless, Peter also starts talking to himself. Words that seem to be punched out of him. It sounds like a mantra. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry …” 

Stiles stands there and doesn’t know what to do. In the end, he carefully approaches and puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Sometimes, someone just being there helps. He knows that from his own experience now. Peter barely reacts to the touch. “I couldn’t save them,” he murmurs and rocks back and forth. “I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t ... “ 

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. He thinks of something to say, but every coherent thought is ripped from him, when suddenly, a wave of pain overwhelms him. He groans and his knees buckle. God … That _hurts_. It’s a combination of emotions and it is too much. Sadness, regret, fear, rage, …

It’s what Peter is feeling right now, Stiles vaguely realizes. He feels like he’s falling into a bottomless abyss. It’s year-long pain mixed with desperation, guilt, rage and repressed sadness. It’s too much. 

Stiles wishes he could make this stop. And somehow, he does. 

It takes a blink, and they’re not in the forest anymore. Instead, they are sitting on the black floor of the burnt Hale House and Stiles isn’t sure this is better. But at least, there are no more bodies. 

He turns to ask Peter if he knows anything about dream sharing, only to freeze because Peter isn’t there anymore. Well. Not in his human form at least. Instead, his bizarre zombie-wolf form is crouching in front of Stiles, eyes blazing red and fangs dripping saliva. He growls threateningly and Stiles shuffles backwards, until his back hits the wall behind him. Dream, he reminds himself frantically while hyperventilating. Dream, fuck, fuck, fuck …

Apparently, he's going to be kicked out of Peter’s dream now. In a painful way. Jesus. This sucks so much. 

Somehow, even in this state, Peter’s eyes still radiate fear and sadness. He claws at his own face and whines like he's in pain, only to growl again the next second.

“Peter?” Stiles asks weakly, cutting through the awful noises. He gets a roar in return and then Peter lunges at him, all claws and fangs. 

Stiles opens his mouth to yell -

\- only to startle awake with a gasp, sitting upright on the floor.

He looks around wildly, right into Scott’s drowsy eyes. “What’s wrong?” Scott mumbles from where he’s sitting slumped in Stiles’ armchair. Oh right, they were playing video games almost the whole night because Stiles couldn’t sleep again …

Stiles blinks. Everything comes back to him in a second. “I think ... I was in Peter’s nightmare,” he says slowly, his tongue heavy from sleep.

Scott stares at him, dumbfounded. “What? What are you talking about, bro?” 

But Stiles ignores him, already reaching for a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt. He’s going to pay Peter a visit. He needs to know what the fuck has just happened.

* * *

Stiles knocks on the door of Peter’s apartment frantically. When the werewolf opens it abruptly, Stiles almost falls forward. He catches himself and looks up at Peter, who frowns at him, his eyes red-rimmed and his hair uncharacteristically wild. “Stiles.” 

“Hey. Uh, so …” Stiles scratches the back of his head. “Is it possible that …”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Is it possible that you invaded my mind when I was dreaming and I can remember every word you said? Apparently, yes,” he says impatiently. 

Stiles chews on his lip. Wow. “So, it _did_ happen. Uh. Do you know why?” 

Peter shrugs. He pads into the kitchen barefooted, to grab a glass of water. Stiles follows him timidly. He catches a glimpse of Peter’s bed. The sheets are crumpled. Looks like Peter was tossing and turning a lot. Stiles wonders if he's screaming too when he has a nightmare. Stiles screams every time, waking his Dad up ...

“It’s your magic. _You_ have to know what it is doing, Stiles," Peter mutters, making a vague hand gesture. 

“Dude, I wish,” Stiles mumbles. He sighs and drops on Peter’s couch, thinking for a moment. 

Maybe … maybe it happened because he’d stayed at Peter’s the night before this dream? Because Peter had let him read his books about sphinxes but insisted that his books would stay at the apartment. 

So Stiles had read them there, until it had been so late, he could barely get on his feet. Peter had just thrown a blanket and a pillow at him, so he’d stayed. He’d been surprised at how well he’d slept. Calm and without any interruptions. 

In the morning, there had been a plate of pancakes and a glass of orange juice. Maybe, somehow, his magic decided to connect to something here. He really has to ask Deaton about this new thing. And all the books about magic he can find. Maybe he'll start here. 

Peter watches him thinking from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping his water. “Whatever you come up with for an explanation, please try to not do this thing again,” he tells Stiles, his voice sounding strained. 

Stiles gets it. It was way too personal. He felt like an intruder the whole time. He saw Peter in a way no one ever sees him. And there’s also Peter’s history … His sister meddled with his memories and he was trapped in his own mind for years. “I’m going to try,” Stiles promises sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Peter only nods and turns away. Stiles bites his lip, then he carefully says, “I have nightmares too, you know. Almost every night. They suck. I hate myself in them. I hate myself so much, I can barely stand looking into the mirror in the morning.”

Peter doesn’t face him and his body looks tense, but Stiles knows he’s listening. So, he continues talking. Once he starts, it seems like he can’t stop.  
  
  


It starts like this: Stiles tells Peter about his nightmares. Peter listens. 

It starts like this: Peter listens and after a while, starts talking himself. 

Sometimes, Stiles’ magic opens a door to something new. To something that helps Stiles and someone else. Sometimes. Though he takes care he doesn’t stumble into dreams again.

**Author's Note:**

> If this story sounds familiar to you, it is because it was posted in a story collection I deleted, cause I wanted to post the stories as One Shots and edit them in the process!


End file.
